Thursday in the Third Week of Lent

Psalm 86   •   Genesis 46:1-7, 28-34    •   1Corinthians 9:1-15   •   Mark 6:30-46

The Miracle Told in All Four Gospels

A Meditation on Mark 6:30-46

BETH-lehem:  In Hebrew, it means House-of-Bread (or Sustenance).  This is its literal translation. I named my daughter, Margaret Elizabeth Lee, BETH, her nickname, for “house,” and the second letter of the Hebrew alphabet, Beth, (pronounced “Bait”), and she is my second child.

This miracle, the Multiplication of the Loaves, as it is known, is the ONLY miracle told in all four Gospels. Not only that, here, in Mark, it is recounted twice.  Now why is that? And how many women and children were included to the numbers of men counted (5,000 and 4,000, respectively)?

Since I returned from the Holy Land in June of ’99, I have often meditated on a tile I bought there to display in my kitchen. It is of one of the most famous ancient mosaics of Jerusalem, artistically balancing some bread loaves and some fish in circular baskets. It is a beautiful depiction.

When Jesus was asked by his disciples, “What are we supposed to feed the people here?” he made it so everyone could eat—and also have leftovers.

How and why did he do this? Perhaps he was more concerned that his listeners would not be famished while they listened. Or perhaps he wanted us to know that if we listen to him, his grace will always be abundantly supplied. He came so that we might have life, and not just life.  Life MORE ABUNDANT.

Soften our hearts, O Lord, do not let our hearts grow hard for any reason. Help us know that you will provide at all times for us, your servants. Help us to multiply our faith in exponential numbers, as you did “(in that) deserted place. . . .”

—  Margaret V. Lee

Wednesday in the Third Week of Lent

Psalm 82  •  Genesis 45:16-28  •  1Corinthians 8:1-13  •  Mark 6:13-29

In the second half of Genesis 45, Joseph acts with Christlike mercy and devotion: he welcomes the brothers who had wronged him; he tells them not to care for possessions, but instead to trust in the plenty of the land; and he urges them not to quarrel or “fall out” with each other (a timeless message, and one in harmony with Jesus’ command that we love one another, John 15:12).  

The meaning of Psalm 82 is clear: it is good and right to defend the poor and needy.  The psalmist speaks to judges in particular, and to magistrates generally: the more power and influence we have, the more we must wield it to help those who have not.

In 1 Corinthians 8, Paul is lovingly willing to abstain from a thing, even if that thing is not inherently wrong, in order to set a good example for those of weaker will and weaker faith.  This big-hearted self-denial, this Lenten virtue, can be very simple in practice, e.g., in the way that many adults choose, lovingly, not to drink or smoke around children. Paul also contends that knowledge itself, without Christ, is not much good—a message especially challenging for us self-styled cognoscenti.  The Latin of the Vulgate is especially winning here: scientia inflat; caritas vero aedificat.  Knowledge “puffeth up” (and how quickly the balloon starts to leak!), but selfless love offers a real, firm basis for everything else: our charity builds a home, for others in this life and for us in the next.

The death of John the Baptist is cruel; Herod Antipas himself knows he has ordered the death of a good man. Cruel because unjust, but also cruel because whimsical: the result of a hot-blooded promise at a drunken birthday party. And most cruel in the irony of its circumstance: this paragon of austerity, this man who gladly lived without, has his fate decided by the recumbent opulent (in 1CE Latin, “Herod’s birthdays” was   slang for unimaginable luxury).             

Matthew’s version of John’s demise ends on a touching note. After Jesus hears of the violent demise of his kinsman and catechist, he withdraws to solitude (out of a sense of danger?  the better to mourn?).  But the multitudes soon follow, and next comes the Feeding of the Five Thousand—how resilient and generous is Jesus, even in time of sorrow!  What, then, do we do when we suffer horrible loss?  Do we turn our thoughts to the needs of others?

                                                                                      —  Matthew Carter

Tuesday in the Third Week of Lent

Psalm 78:40-72   •   Genesis 45:1-15   •   1 Corinthians 7:32-40   •   Mark 6:1-13

We are but flesh, after all,

    “A passing breeze that does not return,

      As unreliable as a faulty bow.”

How then would we presume to

      Put God to the test, “to vex the Holy One of Israel?”

      To belittle His itinerate preacher, to question His credentials?

Would we also huddle on the sandy road through town,

     Snickering at His uneducated, haughty claims?

     Vying to bring His impudence down to size?

Would we tell that upstart to shake the dust from his feet

     As he leaves? Would we sneer that He, so ordinary,

      Dares to moralize and claim to heal and drive out evil?

Would we be amazed by Him, or He, by our lack of faith?

     How hard it is to accept redemption packaged as one of us,

     So human, so marvelously divine, calling us into communion. 

How easily we slither into contempt for the prophet in his own country,

     Failing to recognize the Godhead in His glory,

     Failing to divine the holy in each other.

Yet no thunder claps, no sleet destroys the figs, nor hail the grapes,

     God, “awaking as from sleep,” vindicates His covenant with Love

     Clad as a hometown boy, someone’s brother, someone’s Son.

Stuart Dopp

Monday in the Third Week of Lent

Psalm 79   •   Genesis 44:18-34   •   1 Corinthians 7:25-31   •   Mark 5:21-43

Mark 5: 21-43

Reading this passage, I am struck by the parallel stories told here. There is an older woman, who has been suffering for many years. And there is a young girl of 12, near the point of death. In both situations, Jesus’ healing is sought.

In the case of the young girl, her father comes to Jesus, and respectfully but with some boldness makes a request. “My little daughter is sick. Come and lay your hands on her so she may get well.” When Jesus gets to the house, the sick child is surrounded by friends and family, father and mother. The crowd is doing all it knows to do to console the family, weeping and wailing, sure that this loved child is gone. They are overcome with amazement when Jesus takes her by the hand, calls her back, and makes sure that she is fed.

The story of the older woman who has been suffering without relief for 12 years is a bit different. There are no friends and family accompanying her. Where are they? Is she a widow? Childless? Has her long illness driven away those who were her friends, her neighbors? She too seeks a healing touch, but she does not make a bold request. Rather, she approaches Jesus from behind, reasoning “If I touch even His garments I will be made well.” Jesus is not oblivious to her approach, and turns around, scanning the crowd, asking “Who touched Me?” And Jesus’ question emboldens the woman to step forward and with fear and trembling tell her story.

I think Jesus’ response is the part of this passage I like best. “Daughter,” He says, claiming a family for this lonely but faithful woman, the family of God. “Daughter, your faith has made you well. Go in peace, and be healed of your disease.”

Who are the lonely, suffering, hidden ones in our time and place, and how might we, in Jesus’ name, claim them as family?

―  Karen Mawyer

Third Sunday in Lent

Psalm 96   •   Genesis 44:1-17   •   Romans 8:1-10   •   John 5:25-29

“There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus. For the law of the Spirit of life in Christ Jesus has set you free from the law of sin and of death. For God has done what the law, weakened by the flesh, could not do…” Romans 8:1-3

We so often think of the judgment of God being something to be afraid of. But in Psalm 96, judgment is not portrayed as something to be afraid of. In fact, the whole earth rejoices because the Lord is coming to judge the earth!     

“… Then shall all the trees of the forest sing for joy

before the Lord; for he is coming,   

for he is coming to judge the earth.” Psalm 96:11-13

We imagine judgment and mercy to be two independent things that God might choose to do, but this group of verses tells us that judgment and mercy are who God is. So how can God be judgmental and also merciful at the same time? The verses tell us more―they tell us that Jesus Christ, God’s son, is God’s way of judging the earth (John 5:26-27). But what does it mean to say that Jesus is God’s judgment? Romans says that this judgment is one which gives us freedom—it is because of this judgment that we can say with confidence that “there is no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.”

It is not that there is a judgment that we have somehow avoided, but that the judgment is good news. The judgment is the person of Christ, in whom there is no condemnation. The gospel—the “good news”―is that through Jesus, God has done what we could not do. This does not mean that we live without sin, but that, despite our sin, God frees us by her Spirit to live lives of freedom. Perhaps you don’t like the thought that our sin does not disappear immediately, but let us consider this more closely. Those moments of transformation for us as individuals, and for us as a group of people, indeed even as nations, happen when God moves us to look at ourselves with honesty. Sin is not immediately removed from our lives, but the condemnation is, which frees us to look at our sin with humility and without defensiveness. We are freed to do better and to be better, to learn again and again what it means to love our neighbors as ourselves. Not because we are afraid of God’s judgment, but because we already know God’s judgment, and because we know it is good news.

—  Gillian Breckenridge